The conversation turned on this subject for a few minutes, Madeline taking part in it in a way that showed her resolve to act as she had recommended in her note.  Then Mrs. Lessingham rose and left the two together.  Madeline seemed also about to move; she followed the departing lady with her eyes, and at length, as though adding a final remark, said to Clifford: 

“There are several things you have been so kind as to lend me that I must return before you go, Mr. Marsh.  I will make a parcel of them, and a servant shall take them to your room.

“Thank you.”

Since the quarrel, Madeline had not worn her ring of betrothal, but this was the first time she had spoken of returning presents.

“I am sorry you have had news that disturbed you,” she continued, as if in calm friendliness.  “But I dare say it is something you will soon forget.  In future you probably won’t think so much of little annoyances.”

“Probably not.”

She smiled, and walked away, stopping to glance at a picture before she left the room.  Clifford was left with knitted brows and uneasy mind; he had not believed her capable of this sedateness.  For some reason, Madeline had been dressing herself with unusual care of late (the result, in fact, of frequent observation of Cecily), and just now, as he entered, it had struck him that she was after all very pretty, that no one could impugn his taste in having formerly chosen her.  His reference to her letter was a concession, made on the moment’s impulse.  Her rejecting it so unmistakably looked serious.  Had she even ceased to be jealous?

In the course of the afternoon, one of Mrs. Gluck’s servants deposited a parcel in his chamber.  When he found it, he bit his lips.  Indeed, things looked serious at last.  He passed the hours till dinner in rather comfortless solitude.

But at dinner he was opposite Cecily, and he thought he had never seen her so brilliant.  Perhaps the day in the open air—­there was a fresh breeze—­had warmed the exquisite colour of her cheeks and given her eyes an even purer radiance than of wont.  The dress she wore was not new to him, but its perfection made stronger appeal to his senses than previously.  How divine were the wreaths and shadowings of her hair!  With what gracile loveliness did her neck bend as she spoke to Mrs. Lessingham!  What hand ever shone with more delicate beauty than hers in the offices of the meal?  It pained him to look at Madeline and make comparison.

Moreover, Cecily met his glance, and smiled—­smiled with adorable frankness.  From that moment he rejoiced at what had taken place to-day.  It had left him his complete freedom.  Good; he had given Madeline a final chance, and she had neglected it.  In every sense he was at liberty to turn his thoughts elsewhither, and now he felt that he had even received encouragement.

“We had an unexpected meeting with Mr. Elgar,” were Cecily’s words, when she spoke to her aunt of the day’s excursion.